


Aubergine

by idiotslantern



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, M/M, Multi, Object Insertion, Other, tie bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:45:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotslantern/pseuds/idiotslantern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean started to wonder what other purposes one could put eggplant to. The kids these days used...what were they called again? Emotis? Emo...whatever. Those little smiley things they have on their phones. They use the eggplant one as innuendo, don't they? But what if someone were to look at that more literally? Eggplants came in a wide variety of shapes, some of which are unmistakably phallic, and which could easily be used for less than wholesome purposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aubergine

Dean has been with his fair share of men and women since his change. He no longer had to worry about interference or judgment from Sam, and gone were any self-deprecating thoughts in regards to his proclivities. He could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. That is, of course, providing they're interested in what it is he wants to do.

Sure, sex is sex, and he enjoys it regardless. But there are certain things that are of interest to him that he would like to try now that he no longer has shame standing in his way. But those things aren't really things that your run of the mill bar goer is going to want to do with a stranger. That's where Crowley comes in.

He's an obnoxious Limey bastard who Dean would just as soon kill if he weren't concerned about who might take over Hell in his absence, but if there's one thing he's got going for him, it's that he's a creative son of a bitch who has an uncanny desire to please Dean. Like Hell is Dean going to let an opportunity like that go to waste. So when he's craving something he can't get from your run of the mill bar pick up, he goes to Crowley.

Dean doesn't flat out ask Crowley to help him with what he wants; he has no interest in stroking the guy's ego by saying he _wants_ anything with him. Instead, he tries to drop hints, implement subtle suggestions, until he's got Crowley asking _him_ if they can do it. (And that is surely a sight to behold: Crowley, King of the Crossroads who scraped and clawed his way to the throne of Hell, asking or even _begging_ to please Dean in new and creative ways.)

This particular venture started when a waitress at some tiny Italian place in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming got his order wrong and brought him eggplant parmesan instead of chicken parmesan. She ended up making it up to him with a trip back to his motel room, and honestly, the dish he was served tasted pretty great, even without any meat. But it made him think. He'd never been one to think about vegetables in any context – except for that one time with that bearded guy and an ear of corn, though he doesn't really talk about that – but after that night, he couldn't get his mind off of eggplants.

He started ordering more eggplant dishes when he and Crowley would go out, and even decided to try some recipes on his own. Ratatoille, moussaka, baba ghanouj – who knew there was so much you could do with eggplant? While making caponata one night, he started to wonder what other purposes one could put eggplant to. The kids these days used...what were they called again? Emotis? Emo...whatever. Those little smiley things they have on their phones. They use the eggplant one as innuendo, don't they? But what if someone were to look at that more literally? Eggplants came in a wide variety of shapes, some of which are unmistakably phallic, and which could easily be used for less than wholesome purposes. Dean though, his interests don't lie with the long thin ones. He's more interested in the fat bulbous ones.

Crowley was easy enough to trick into doing this. (Dean's starting to think that Crowley has picked up on what Dean's been doing. If he does, he doesn't seem to mind, or have any interest in calling Dean out on it.) He had some official Hell business to tend to, leaving Dean to spend the day however he likes – which basically amounts to seeing how far he can stretch himself, in preparation for the inevitable main event – and he comes back to the motel with a cloth grocery bag, inside of which is some of Dean's favorite junk food, a bottle of wine, and a beautiful, big, deep purple eggplant.

Later that night, Dean finds himself propped up on his knees, his chest on the bed, naked as the day he was born, as Crowley fucks into him with the largest dildo Dean owns. It's big, as far as dildos are concerned, but it's width is nothing compared to the widest part of the eggplant, and that alone sends a little thrill of anticipation down Dean's spine.

Crowley is still fully clothed, but for the tie – a deep shade of purple – that he took off earlier and used to secure Dean's wrists behind his back. He could easily free his wrists if he so chose, but he likes the illusion of restraint and the way the silk feels against the skin of his wrists.

The dildo feel pleasant enough, but Dean's gotten used to the size of it and he's starting to grow impatient. He plays up his boredom, letting out a yawn, which leads Crowley to tug Dean up so his back is against Crowley's chest, before growling in his ear, “ _Is that not enough for you_?” When all Dean offers him in response is a cocky smirk, Crowley orders, “Tell me what you want then.”

“World peace?” Dean sasses, and it earns him a hard shove back onto the bed.

“Want to try that again?” Crowley smacks his ass, which brings a sharp, surprised cry out of Dean.

Crowley takes pleasure in Dean actually asking for what he wants, and Dean usually puts it off as long as he can, because he likes Crowley's punishments, but this time, he's too desperate to get that thing inside him to not just give in. “ _Fuck me with the eggplant_.”

“There,” Crowley croons, petting his hand along Dean's flank. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?”

Dean's about to mutter a “fuck you,” but then he feels Crowley nestle the smooth, bulbous end of the eggplant between his cheeks and bites his lip in anticipation, his hips twitching back to encourage Crowley on.

Behind him, Crowley is dutifully teasing Dean with the eggplant, pressing it against his hole, but not with enough pressure that it'll go in.

Dean practically whimpers, wiggling his hips a little as he whines “Crowley, _please_...”

Dean can practically hear the smirk when Crowley says “As you wish,” but he doesn't care how smug Crowley is, because he begins pushing the eggplant inside him. It's a slow, burning stretch, and tears brim Dean's eyes. It's everything he'd wanted and more, and he never wants it to stop.

Crowley gets the widest part of it past Dean's rim, and the rest of it goes in easier. Dean feels like he can breathe again. But then Crowley starts moving it in and out of Dean in shallow thrusts – a brief drag outward before driving it back in quick, rough. Dean clenches his teeth around the pillow, his hands into fists, groaning and aching for more.

It's a torturous build up, Crowley taking his time to build up the speed and force of his thrusts with the eggplant, until he slams it into Dean's prostate, his vision whiting out. Dean pushes his hips back with renewed, wanton vigor, crying out every time the eggplant hits that spot, until he comes untouched, his release splashing onto the scratchy motel sheets.

He slumps forward, and Crowley gently works the eggplant out of him, stepping away briefly to dispose of it before he comes back, untying Dean's wrists, rubbing over the inside of one gently with his thumb, then cleans him of any semen and lube using a warm wet cloth he must have grabbed while he was up. He helps Dean to his feet and moves him over to the other queen bed in the room, pulling the sheet over him.

Dean has long since given up complaining when Crowley does this. If left up to his own devices, Dean would just as well pass out right after sex, and wake up encrusted with dried and flaking semen, which he'd then bitch about. This way, he wakes up clean and satisfied. It still weirds him out, Crowley doing something that might border on sweet or affectionate, but Crowley's a weird guy, so he doesn't question it anymore.

His last thought before he drifts off to sleep is how he wonders how a butternut squash would compare to an eggplant.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Coldest Hits Challenge for the March theme: Someone gets fucked with a vegetable. (By a vegetable? Idk. One of the two.) [Here's the link to the post.](http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/post/139476843265/march-rules-reblog-this-post-to-enter-your-fic)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://maraparkers.tumblr.com/) to talk to me about eggplant related things.


End file.
